Catching the Bouquet

Dear Friends,

Catching the bouquet, or as I like to say, “I won the bouquet!” The history of this term comes from the 14th and 15th centuries, according to Yahoo! Answers. “There was an ancient belief that certain herbs contained in the bridal bouquet were good luck. In order to pass on this luck, the bride would choose a friend to present the bouquet to at the end of the wedding.”

I caught it free and clear last weekend, I kept a Kung Fu grip on those stems. A girl to my right pawed at two rose buds, causing them to fall and float sadly in the air. She was also the girl who was stretching before the toss. Just another example in life that proves when you something so desperately, you never get it. Something about feathers and flower petals spreading depresses me. After this, I took one of the happiest pictures I’ve ever taken. I was glowing. It was bizarre. I have only been to maybe 3 weddings in my life. The last time I was at a wedding, I did not want to get married. I was in a roller coaster of a psychotic relationship and wanted out, not married to it. I can’t even remember paying attention to when this ancient ceremony would occur. But everyone in America seems to know this custom. The day after I caught the bouquet, my grandmother’s El Salvadorian caretaker smiled and said, “You’re next!” For the first time, I didn’t hear horror music in my head, “Dun dun duhhhhhhhhhhhhh.” I was happy and calm. Maybe I do hope I’m next.

But how can I believe something that clearly has no truth to it? What does it mean? Is it just there now to give single girls hope, because at the time, I did have hope. I had so much hope that I took it from LA all the way to my apartment in NYC and it is now drying upside down next to my vanity mirror. It didn’t get smashed on the plane, which is even more bizarre. Flowers are so delicate, like emotions. You were waiting for me to say something like that, weren’t you? You can admit it. It is a very Jessica thing to say, at least when I have my writer brain on.

But really, a bouquet is like your whole life. Each bud grows on its own accord, each part of your life evolving until it blooms. And once it’s put all together, all bloomed, it is utterly beautiful. Isn’t that what we are all doing in this world? Waiting to bloom? Waiting to even out? Waiting to spread our wings, waiting to not have to hope anymore because the hope is confirmed. What do you call that? Happiness? I’m not sure. I am no expert on that. How long exactly does this good luck transpire?

The odd thing was after I caught it, two groomsmen got really obsessed with me. As if I was some sort of Alpha Female or something, like I took control of my love life by using my sharp instincts to catch the flowers. At the end of Bridget Jones, Clueless and countless other rom-coms, the lead catches the bouquet. Did I just get cast in my very own rom-com? Stay tuned, I guess is what it means at the very least. I know I will.



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